Act Naturally
by bombalurima
Summary: A series of drabbles and little ficlets written about any and all of the A:TLA characters. Main couples will include Maiko/Kataang/Sukka. Not in any particular chronological order. Rated for potential later chapters.
1. Finish

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A/N: This is going to be a series of drabbles about any and all of the characters. Once I get a prompt, I'll decide who it's going to be written about. I DO take character/couple requests, so if you'd like to see something like that, let me know and I'll find a drabble that'll fit. Until then, enjoy them!

************The alignment on this one got screwed up...sorry 'bout that, guys.

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Finish

_(Kataang. Takes place right during the Sozin's Comet: Part 4 finale smooch)_

One thing that had always bothered him for quite some time now was that Aang had never gotten to finish his statement, the one thing he had wanted to tell Katara before leaving to find the Guru at the Eastern Air Temple, the one thing he had been absolutely sure of, and still was of now.

He had certainly come close, but of course, Sokka had interrupted. Aang had initially considered abandoning his usual peace-favoring monk ways and throwing Sokka fifty yards, but there just wasn't time, and besides, what good would it have done? But here and now, with his arms wrapped around Katara and the glow of the sun setting behind them countered only by the glow on her face, he knew that this was an even better moment.

"Katara, I need to tell you something," He broke their kiss only because he had to, because he couldn't keep the words bottled up inside him anymore. They had to break free.

"What is it?" Katara's voice was breathless, her blue eyes shining, a smile on her lips. Though she wanted nothing more to return to their previous activity, Aang looked pretty intense.

"I've really been meaning to say this for a long time now…" He couldn't help it, the tell-tale blush arose on his face, and it was only with great difficulty that he kept his arms around her, instead of awkwardly scratching the back of his head or something of the like.

She prompted him with a nod, and he took a deep breath before opening his mouth and spilling out his heart:

"I love you, Katara. I always have, right from the first day I met you."

He wanted to say more (just what though, he wasn't exactly sure), but Katara brought his scrambled train of thought into nothing but pure, sweet bliss and wiped his mind clean of anything else coherent as she pressed another kiss to his lips.

"I love you too, Aang…" She murmured, and his heart, which already been turning cartwheels in his chest, parted company with his body and floated up, up, up to the painted sky above.

They kissed again, passionate, fervent, and loving all at once, neither one of them considering the possibly that very shortly, they would have to resurface for air.

"HEY!" A loud, oh-to-familiar voice bellowed from somewhere in what seemed like a far, far-off distance. "Are you two ever going to finish!"

Aang and Katara turned, still locked in each other's embrace, only to see Sokka standing in the doorway of Iroh's tea shop, an incredulous look on his face as he ogled at the pair of them.

"Just deal with it, Sokka," Katara huffed (as best as she could given her current dreamy disposition), but silently, on the inside, both she and Aang answered his question in unison:

They didn't think so.


	2. Alone

**A/N: Obviously, I had to write something with Zuko. This takes place during "Zuko Alone", and that's all I hafta say about that.**

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**Alone**

It was strange, Zuko had to admit, to be travelling by himself.

For the past three years, his uncle had always been there with him. The two had scavenged the world, searching every last nook and cranny for the one thing, the one precious thing, that meant that they could finally return home.

Throughout that whole time, he had considered Iroh's presence nothing more than a nuisance. There had been times where he had been grateful that his uncle was here with him, but those had been rare. Most of the time, he just desperately wished that he could have been alone, and had frequently stolen off to his room to achieve just that.

Now though, Zuko found himself oddly missing Iroh, Iroh and his fondness for tea, Iroh and his never-ending patience, Iroh and his ability to put faith in his nephew when no one else, not even Zuko himself, could do such a thing.

There had only been one other time in his life where he had felt as alone as he did now, and that had been years ago.

His mother had disappeared, vanished into the night without a trace, and for weeks afterward, he could not shake the horrible, miserable, lonely feeling that clung to him like a wet blanket. Azula teased him, asking him if he needed his mama to come wipe his tears for him. Zuko didn't bother pointing out to her that Ursa had been _her _mama as well. It wouldn't have done any good.

But back then, he had had the company of one small, dark-haired girl that came to the palace to play with his sister, but eventually, became his closest, and perhaps his only, friend. He could still feel her tiny little hand locked in his, could feel the blush on his face as an identical one blossomed onto her's, and could remember word-for-word, as if it had been burned into his brain, the first thing that had came out of her mouth when she confronted him by the turtle-duck pond the day after his mother's disappearance:

"_I'm here."_

Mai wasn'there now. Ursa wasn't here now. Uncle wasn't here now. All of those who had stayed with him before, who had loved him and guided him and been there for him whenever he needed someone were all gone.

Zuko was, for the first time in his life, completely and utterly alone.

He had no idea why he had ever wanted this.


	3. Empty

**A/N: A Mai drabble, with Maiko thrown in of course. Expect to see a lot of them throughout. This is in response to all the haters out there who do in fact, accuse Mai of being all of the following things.**

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Empty

People called Mai cold.

They called her emotionless.

And they called her empty.

Mai could understand, maybe, where the first two came from. Maybe sometimes she could be a little cold. She was certainly not emotionless—she just hid her feelings very well, so well in fact, that it did not come as a surprise to her when others said she didn't feel anything.

But Mai was not, and nor would she ever be empty, no matter what anyone else said. There had been a time, a long, bleak period in her life where she had thought that maybe, just _maybe, _that assumption about her was correct. She certainly _felt _empty sometimes, like something that's been sucked dry and is now nothing more than a dried-up husk.

She was wrong though.

And she had Zuko to thank for that.

_How _on earth could people call her 'empty', when she had Zuko to fill her each and every day? Over the course of their years spent both together and apart, he had filled her with every single thing she could possibly imagine. He had filled her with joy, with rage, with sorrow, with relief, with pride, and above all else, with _love._

He made her feel again, he thawed the icy exterior she kept herself frozen in, and he forced aside the mask that she had hid behind for far too long. Little by little, with Zuko as her inspiration and her guidance, she was removing herself from her shell. It was hard, to be unafraid to voice her thoughts and opinions about something, to not feel the urge to hide her beliefs behind a dry, dull comment and a lofty sneer.

But she was getting there. Day by day, bit by bit, she was getting there.

And when Zuko held her in his arms, each and every time, Mai felt it: her heart swelling in her chest, growing and filling her with nothing but love and warmth until there was no more room for any empty space at all.


	4. Inferno

**Submitted for a contest over at Livejournal, under the prompt 'Devour'. Femslash, more Azula/Mai**

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Azula has always liked her connection to fire.

To her, it is more than just the element she bends—it is the very way in which she lives her life.

Like the flames she commands, Azula has a habit of burning. She blazes. She rages. There is literally, no way of ceasing the explosion, no way to cool down the heat. People have learned to fear her, to respect her, because when you are playing with fire, you are literally, playing with fire.

There is one person however, who sometimes seems to forget just where her proper place is—underneath Azula's shoe, locked in Azula's embrace, chained forever to the princess. That is where she belongs, though sometimes, Azula thinks that she forgets that. It's essential that she remembers though, because more than anything else:

Azula _consumes._

There are times when she would like nothing more than to seize ahold of Mai and plant a crushing, overwhelming kiss on her lips, so intense that it leaves the other girl with scorched lips, gasping for air. There are times when she wants to latch onto Mai, her waist, her neck, and leave burn marks there, marks that show that she is _her's_ and her's alone. There are times when she wants to blaze a burning trail of greed and possession down Mai's long, slim body and relish in her gasps, in her little whimpers, in her desperate struggles to free herself.

For if there is one thing Azula knows about fire, it is this: once it has you in its flaming clutches, there is no escaping it.

She wants to swallow Mai, wants to taste her, to ravish her, to brand her, to _own _her. She wants to see the knife's mistress spread out before her like an banquet, like a feast, something that is all her's to devour, every last sweet and satisfactory bite. It's all so very difficult to control the urge to blast fire everywhere out of her sheer desire every time she catches a flash of pale white skin, or every time she smoothes her long dark hair out of her face.

It's getting _too_ challenging now, what with Mai always wrapped up in her brother's embrace, stupid, weak Zuko with the lopsided face who somehow, someway, managed to ensnare the one thing Azula has ever wanted so desperately, the ache inside of her chest was like a fire of its own.

But soon, Azula will stop trying. Soon, she won't bother trying to restrain herself. Soon, she will unleash the inferno inside of her, and consume Mai the way she has always wanted to. Azula will have her, will keep her as long as she wishes, burning bright and strong, before finally, the other girl's iron will finally breaks, as the princess knows it will.

And once that is done, there will be no more use for her. Azula will leave her, nothing more than a wasted pile of ashes, and continue her path of destruction, not one person left standing behind her. Until a fire is quenched, there is no way of controlling it. There will be no stopping her.

She does not know yet that the very person she wants so badly to devour will someday be the one to put out the inferno itself.


	5. Memory

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**A/N: After rewatching "The Puppet Master", the urge to write a drabble like this grabbed ahold of me and didn't let go. To me, that episode reveals a newer, darker level to Katara-though she only uses Bloodbending to keep Hama from doing any more harm to her friends, it's still almost frightening how quickly and how well she masters the art. The fact that almost uses it again later on her mother's murderer in "The Southern Raiders" also seems significant...she makes the choice not to of course, but the fact that the option was still _there _in her mind, that her hatred ruled her so strongly in that moment that she almost uses the technique that she hates so deeply is notable.**

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There are times when Katara can feel it, pounding away like a second heartbeat inside her chest.

She had resolved to never use it again. She had opportune moments of course, the perfect time having been during her confrontation of her mother's murderer.

She could feel it then, a sharp, insistent tug inside of her, a little voice that whispered to unleash it, to embrace it, to show this man what she was truly capable of and make him suffer for his actions.

Katara could have done it. She could have done it in the blink of an eye, without a second thought. She had the power to.

And that was what frightened her so much.

She tried to push it out of her mind, that nagging, persistent little part of her that begged and pleaded for her to bow to its whims, to succumb to the temptation, to give into her hatred and her desire to control and let the gift she had sing through her veins. It was no easy feat.

After many months of using her talents for orderly, peaceful methods, blocking that moonlit night and the terrible yet compelling method the old woman Hama had taught her out of her mind, it became much easier. The tiny voice in her mind that murmured to her to unlock her true powers faded, until it became nearly impossible to hear it at all.

Nearly. But not quite.

There was always, always, a time, when Katara couldn't hold herself back, and her arms would tremble with the memory, with the remembrance of a time when they had had the power to control someone else, to make them a human puppet to her, entirely under her command. She almost gives into it.

Almost. She stops herself, of course. It isn't in her nature to really want to do such a thing.

But her heart pounds quicker. Her mind races. Her arms tremble.

She will never forget.


	6. Forget

**A/N: Sort of like a follow-up piece to my previous drabble, 'Memory.' This too is about something forbidden to Katara, something she refuses to let herself think about because it's not right for her-but something that keeps coming back, no matter how hard she tries to shake it off. Who she's thinking about should be fairly obvious-I purposely avoided using his name, because I doubt Katara would want to actually think it.**

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_Forget him,_ her mind urged her. _Forget him. Put him behind you. _

But how could she possibly?

_He was a bad person, _The little rational part of herself reminded her. _He did terrible things. Attacked innocent people. _

And yet…and _still, _Katara could not shake his memory.

He had been beautiful; he truly had, with his mop of brown hair, bronzed skin, and dark eyes that had mesmerized her, eyes that she could have drowned in.

There had been an easy grace around him, a kind of power, arrogance, and style that reminded her of the great tigers and lions of yore she had heard of as a little girl back in the Water Tribe, creatures that were too magnificent to picture, confined in her own imagination, until she met one of them in the form of a human boy.

Katara had been spellbound, she had to admit. It was easy enough to brush it off as a mere infatuation, one of her first interactions with a member of the male gender (and an attractive one at that) besides her brother, and therefore, her behavior around him could only have been expected.

So why did, even now, the memory of him stir something inside of her that no one else, not even Aang, ever had?

He had been the first boy she had ever kissed, maybe that had something to do with it. She had been surprised by her boldness then, and still was now. He was so tall, Katara had had to stand on tip-toe to make contact and as embarrassing as that had been, it was worth it.

His lips had been dry, a little chapped, but his taste was unforgettable, just like the smell of him. Even now, if she let her thoughts drift, she could remember it—he smelled like smoke, like grass, like the wind in the trees. He had tasted like the forbidden, like longing, like everything she had ever wanted and could never have.

He had been a bad person. He had done terrible things. He had hurt innocent people.

And yet, he had woken every one of her senses up, the first one to do so, and the only one in such an intense way. Yes, she loved Aang. He was the one for her, there was no doubt in her mind.

But as long as she lived, there would be a part of her that longed for a boy with fire in his heart, a fire that had sparked up one of her own, a fire that had raged, had destroyed…and had utterly consumed her.

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**A/N: I like to think that Jet (surprise!) had a bigger impact on Katara than what we really get to see-the episode 'Lake Laogai' is proof of that. He's also mentioned briefly in 'The Southern Raiders'-not in a good way, but it still seems that he's on her mind sometimes, even if it's only because of all the bad things he did. Henceforth, this fic-Toph's comment about Jet being her boyfriend, Katara denying it, and Toph being able to tell that she's lying seems pretty significant to me. **


	7. Regret

**A/N: I admit it, I've got a guilty indulgence. That guilty indulgence would be Jai, or the pairing of Mai and Jet. Though they don't ever meet in canon, I like to think that Jet, Smellerbee and Longshot travelled to Omashu before going to Ba Sing Se...and that they met there. I don't know, the couple is just very intriguing to me, and I wanted to write a little drabble for it. The fact that Mai is mentioned by name only once is intentional-it sort of adds to it. I'm also debating on writing a chapter-story about Jet and his life...hands up for a Jai chapter?**

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**Diis Aliter Visum**

_"The Gods Decided Otherwise"_

The light was the worst part about it.

The eerie green light weeping and shining from seemingly every nook and cranny in this godforsaken chamber was both ghostly and almost mocking in a way…the green color seemed to be taunting him, shining on him in a teasing fashion, tormenting him because the light they shone was not red, as it should have been.

It should have been a man in scarlet, black, and gold armor that took Jet down. As a Freedom Fighter, he did not exactly expect to live a long life, and that was fine with him. As long as he died for the cause, as long as he had gone out in the blaze of battle, felled by the hand of a worthy Firebending opponent, than he would be content.

But he hadn't.

Smellerbee's quiet sniffles only made it even more unbearable. He watched through bleary, barely-focused eyes as tears slid down her tiny face, sliding off and landing onto the cold stone floor beneath them. Jet could hardly believe this. Smellerbee didn't cry. It was a fact of life, as sure as breathing. Yet here she was…

Longshot stood over them, his head bowed, his face hidden by the brim of his hat. Jet couldn't see his expression—and even if he could, it would probably betray nothing.

"Come on…" Smellerbee suddenly wiped her eyes, her voice wobbly but scrambling for resolve. "Come on Jet, let's get you out of here…w-we can find someone to heal you!"

Jet could feel it in every fiber of his being—he was going to die. He was absolutely going to die. His whole body just felt completely numb. It wasn't numb like when your arm falls asleep…it was numb like he couldn't move, like he couldn't feel. Every breath he took was a rattle, his heart shaking in his crushed chest as it tried to continue its purpose of pumping blood to the rest of his body. He could already feel Death, his hand an icy claw on his shoulder.

Jet shook his head, one gesture that he was still capable of doing. The rest of his body was paralyzed.

"B-but Jet!" Smellerbee protested, tears starting to flow again. "There's s-still time…there's still a c-chance that you'll b-be OK!"

Jet watched as Longshot abruptly extended a hand, and laid it on the small girl's shoulder. Her head jerked up to meet his eyes with her own watery ones, and Jet could have sworn he saw a flicker of something else in her gaze when she looked up and met the archer's stare.

Longshot's hand travelled up to Smellerbee's cheek, and his thumb slowly dragged across it, gently wiping the tears away.

Jet couldn't look at anything now but Longshot's hand, cradling Smellerbee's cheek like she was the most precious thing in the world just then. He could remember a time when his own hand caressed a girl like that…on two separate occasions.

The first had been Katara. He had reduced her to tears with the deception he still regretted to his day, and at the time, he had still wanted her to see his way, to turn to his side. He had placed his hand against her tear-soaked cheek, pleaded her name, and she had pushed him away. Not that he blamed her.

The next time it happened…

The hand that had been resting on his shoulder, Death's hand itself, moved to his chest, moved _into _his chest, and seized ahold of his heart just then.

Jet couldn't help but let out a gasp, throwing his head back and feeling his breath quicken, and then slow again.

"Jet!" Smellerbee pulled herself away from Longshot to hunker back down over him, her fingers fluttering over his chest, to his face, unsure of where to land. "Jet…please…hold on…"

He tried to open his mouth to speak, and for a moment, nothing came out. Finally though, he forced the words out.

"So…tired…"

And he was. Jet, the indomitable, the inextinguishable, the restless, the wild Jet, was tired. So very, very tired….

"_So go to sleep…" She murmured in his ear, her fingers stroking his hair, her voice a raspy whisper. The ends of her silky dark hair brushed along his face as she moved her head, her face hovering above his, only a lip's distance away._

"_I can't…" He told her, closing his eyes at her touch and confessing in an agonized undertone. "I'll lose you…you won't be there with me…"_

_Her lips pressed to his, a cool, wonderful sensation that sent a small thrill down his spine, and he returned the kiss, deepening it as best as he could. _

_Mai pulled away, but only enough so she could talk, her lips moving against his as she spoke:_

"_I'll be there. I promise you this."_

"Jet…" Smellerbee whispered. "Please….please don't…"

"Let him go…" Longshot spoke, his voice low and soft, but full of pain as well. "Let him go, Smellerbee…there's nothing more we can do."

There was nothing more anyone could do now.

He felt Death's hand clench once more around his heart, and he forced his eyes open one more time to take one last look at the world, this green, eerily-lit world and suck in a gulp of air, his circulatory system sputtering one final time.

"I wish…" He choked out, and Smellerbee pressed up against him, her eyes desperately searching his face.

"What is it, Jet?"

"I wish…"

To their dying days, Smellerbee and Longshot would never forget his last words. They expected something patriotic, something full of the smoldering rage and passion that had consumed Jet his whole life, something that would ring strong and true in the fiery hearts' of rebels everywhere.

What he actually said was something completely different.

"I wish…I could have seen her…"

He closed his eyes, shutting Smellerbee and Longshot's faces away, the green lights dimming, the world turning dark, her voice in his ear, her kiss still tingling on his lips as he murmured,

"One…last time…"


	8. Supernatural

**A/N: Takes place during 'The Guru' (or whichever episode Zuko gets sick in). A little bit of my take on the Zuko/Iroh relationship, and how Iroh sees his nephew as his son.**

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**Leaves From the Vine**

Iroh finds himself forever haunted by the ghosts of his past.

They visit him in the dead of night, they come to him in the daytime in the most nondescript of places, from the sound of dripping water to the scrape of a broom sweeping over the floor of the teashop.

He hears the wind howling and thinks of his sweet wife, wailing in agony as she struggles to bring their child into the world. The wind dies down, and so does his wife in his memory, blow away like a leaf and fading into the night.

Sometimes, as he walks down the streets of Ba Sing Se and watches the sky bleed as the sun sets, he recalls many years before when the crimson light shone on the bodies of his enemies, of the Earth Kingdom soldiers who fell under the blaze and the glory of the crown prince of the Fire Nation, the Dragon of the West.

Even now, whenever he hears the sound of metal scraping, he is taken back to another day, transformed into another man, a different man. Ba Sing Se is a graveyard. He does not entirely blame his nephew for not wishing to stay.

Most of all, Iroh is plagued by the memory of his son. Although certain sounds and sighs remind him of his beloved Lu Ten, it is not any of that that haunts him day after day—rather, it is his nephew.

Whenever Zuko thrusts his chin out, so proud, so arrogant, Iroh sees Lu Ten. When Zuko paces in the confines of their apartment like a lion in a cage, Iroh watches his son march back and forth before a battle, restless and impatient.

Zuko moves with all the grace, power, and majesty of a dragon, and so Lu Ten does as well. Zuko pushes his dark hair out of his face, and Lu Ten copies the gesture.

Zuko breathes, and Lu Ten breathes.

Now Zuko lies on a thin cot on the floor, sweaty and shaking with fever, and Iroh dabs his face with a cool cloth. He could not help his son. He _can _help his nephew.

But the line separating the two young men has blurred to the point of near non-existence.

He assures Zuko that he will be a beautiful prince someday and knows, in his heart of hearts, that this is not true. Lu Ten will be.

His son and his nephew are one and the same.

Iroh finds himself forever haunted by not only the ghosts of his past, but the ghosts of his present and his future as well.


	9. Soldier

Lu Ten has been walking.

Sometimes, it feels like that is_ all _he has been doing.

He has lost all sense of time and space, so he is not entirely sure how long he has been here. Some days, it feels like forever.

It is cold, wherever he is, and so very dark. He has nothing left but the scattered memories of the life he left behind, of the life he was so cruelly torn from.

Though he largely wanders this chilly, empty place with a dull sense of numbness and little to no feeling inside, whenever the ghosts of his past dance across his memory and through his mind, he is hit with a sudden rush of heat and adrenaline, the last traces of the battle that cost him his life racing through his veins.

When he had lived, Lu Ten was not a bitter person. He laughed more often than not, and having been raised by the laidback Iroh, emotions such as bitterness, sorrow, and rage had been rarely experienced.

Now though…when he is not numb, he is aching, burning, and raging, in a hollow body full to the brim with flames.

He longs for those bursts, those scorches and bursts of intensity. As painful as they are, they are at least proof that he can once again _feel—_and that is something he longs for.

It is so very dark here, so very cold and all-consuming.

He does not know where he is. A soldier should always be aware of his location, and this one has nary a clue. Someplace very still. Someplace where he is alone.

Whenever Lu Ten feels human, as opposed to a drifting spirit, he can catch glimpses and flashes of the people he left behind, not only the life. He can see his father shuffling around the floor of his tea shop, chatting to customers and smiling. He is happy.

Lu Ten can see Zuko, surrounded by love from his new friends, wrapped in the embrace of a lovely dark-haired girl, his heart fit to burst. Lu Ten can feel it.

His own throbs, a cold, dead thing, and he casts aside the images of his cousin. He keeps walking.

He walks and walks, and sees no end in sight. He will keep up this relentless march forever.

Occasionally, there is a flash of fire. But mostly, there is an all-consuming darkness.

Lu Ten was a soldier. The spirits saw fit to never let him forget that.


End file.
